Disclaimer: "Diagnosis Murder" and the characters in it are owned by CBS and Viacom and are merely being borrowed here for recreational, non-profit purposes.

Rating: G

Summary: Steve tries to protect his father when he hears rumours of a contract out on Mark.

Dedication: As always, this one is for Nonny, without whose encouragement I would never start, nevermind finish, a story.

Contract

Chapter 1

Steve picked his way cautiously through the trash and assorted odorous junk in the alley, all senses on alert. It wouldn't be the first time a call to meet an informant had been the bait to entice him into a trap, and he didn't care for a repeat of the last such encounter. It might seem an unnecessary risk to arrange a meeting in such an isolated and seedy place but Steve could appreciate that being seen voluntarily talking to a cop could be a dangerous proposition to certain criminal elements. The message he had received indicated a degree of urgency that he hoped warranted the risk he was taking. Cheryl was waiting in the car a few blocks away in a slightly more salubrious area, ready to supply backup if necessary, but he was aware that this was too far away to provide immediate assistance.

A shuffling noise behind some boxes on the left caused him to spin around, his back to the wall ready to defend himself, but at the emergence of a rat sniffing its way from one pile of refuse to the next, he relaxed his vigilance slightly. As he watched the rodent scuttle away, his eye was caught by the shadow of a figure moving stealthily towards him, and he quickly turned to face this new threat, but recognized the man as 'Fast" Eddie, the snitch he was supposed to meet. He derived some pleasure from watching him fastidiously try to avoid stepping in some of the worst patches of unidentifiable ooze. Fast Eddie was not the most reliable of sources but he had occasionally passed on information that had proved extremely useful.

"This had better be good, Eddie," he warned, not liking the rapacious look in the man's eyes.

"Oh, it's good and it's going to cost ya." He assumed an unctuous expression of regret. "Word out on the street says there's a contract out on your old man."

"What!" Steve searched the man's face intently for any hint of deception, anxiety coursing through him. Deciding he was in earnest, he flung the command of "Stay right there, don't move!" at Fast Eddie as he moved towards the mouth of the alley, pulling out his cell phone. His concerns for his own safety were subsumed by this possible threat to his father. He dialed his father's number, waiting impatiently for an answer that was unforthcoming. Forcing down his rising concern, he dialed Jesse's number and was relieved by the bright cheery response.

"Dr. Travis here."

"Jesse, its me. Where's Dad?" he asked urgently, praying it was a false alarm.

"He's in surgery. What's the matter? Is something wrong?" Jesse reacted to the uncharacteristic note of worry in Steve's voice.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm not sure yet. I need you to stay with Dad; don't leave him alone and make sure he stays at the hospital. There's a possibility someone's gunning for him, so until I can be sure he's in no danger, alert security. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Receiving Jesse's assurance that he would follow these directions, and satisfied that his Dad's immediate safety was ensured, Steve spun on his heel and headed back to the snitch. "I want all the information you have," he demanded curtly.

"What's it worth?" was the avaricious reply, and Steve had to restrain his immediate impulse, which was to throw him up against the wall and throttle him till he cooperated. He satisfied himself with a glare, and reached into his pocket for his wallet and held out five twenties.

"That's all I have on me," he ground out. "If your information proves reliable, I'll give you more."

Fast Eddie hesitated, then reached for the money and, with a flourish, it disappeared.

"Word on the street is someone's got a real strong grudge against Doc Sloan. Hates his guts and wants to hurt him real bad."

"Is that all?" Steve asked with disgust, thinking for a minute he'd been conned and actually relieved that this could be the case. "My dad has many enemies, that's hardly news."

"Not so fast, my impetuous friend." He paused tantalisingly, obviously confident in the worth of his information. "How many of them have hired hitmen to take him out?"

"What! Is this just another vague rumour or do you have something concrete for me?" Any patience Steve still had left was rapidly dissolving as he tried to pin down something tangible.

"The hitman arrived in town this morning from the East Coast. His name is Johnny Tremelo. I knew him back in New York, not personally of course, but by sight. He worked for the mob out there; now he's for hire to the highest bidder. I saw him with my own eyes."

With a sinking heart, Steve realised that this threat to his father could not be so easily dismissed as a hoax.

The urgency of ascertaining the full extent of the threat facing his father had driven the need for vigilance out of Steve's mind. His back was to the mouth of the alley, and his only warning of an impending attack was the sudden widening of alarm in his informant's eyes. Steve's attentiveness may have lapsed, but there was nothing wrong with this reflexes. Yelling, "Get down!" he dove for cover in the one place his cop's instincts had subconsciously marked as the only reliable protection available - a dumpster of dubious vintage on the left side of the alley. As he moved, a volley of shots rang out, peppering the back of the alley and the dumpster itself. The metallic clang in the enclosed space was a shocking contrast to the earlier quiet, and Steve had to resist the urge to cover his ears. A quick glance back revealed Eddie lying in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Furious at himself for being caught off guard, Steve quickly squeezed off two rounds, more to discourage his unknown assailants from advancing down the alley than in the hopes of hitting anyone. With his right hand he opened the connection on his cell phone to Cheryl.

"Call for backup and an ambulance NOW." His curt message was punctuated by the sound of gunfire, lending it considerable urgency, and soon the sound of a police car was clearly audible over the sporadic shooting. Obviously reluctant to face the approaching reinforcements, the gunmen disappeared back into the murky shadows.

As Cheryl pulled the car to a screeching halt, Steve reholstered his weapon, confident that his assailants had indeed departed, and knelt down beside Fast Eddie. Police training, field experience and years of hanging round with doctors had taught him more than just the preliminaries necessary to deal with gunshot wounds, and he was competently staunching the flow of blood from a chest wound when Cheryl ran up, anxiously assessing his condition.

"You OK?"

"I'm fine. Where's that ambulance?" he snapped, afraid his informant was going to die under his hands and blaming himself for not preventing the shooting.

"It's on the way," and indeed Steve could now hear the distinctive siren signaling its approach. As the paramedics arrived, Steve willingly yielded his place and stood watching as his informant, survival very much in doubt, was loaded into the ambulance. Steve's mind was analyzing the attack and wondering if there was a connection to the threat to his father.

"What happened, Steve?" Cheryl's concerned voice broke into his concentration.

"I'll tell you on the way to the hospital," he replied distractedly as he strode towards the car, eager to see his father and confirm his safety.

"Whoa, that's a nice aftershave you've picked up. Eau de garbage if I'm not mistaken," Cheryl teased him as he sat in the car, wanting to dispel the gloomy aura surrounding her friend.

Steve looked down at his clothes which were indeed pungent. His desperate dive to safety in the alley had carried him through some rotting material whose origin he decided he didn't care to discover. The brief moment of humour passed as he described Fast Eddie's warning and the ensuing attack in terse tones, his mind still dwelling on the information presented. Knowing only too well the tight bond between father and son, Cheryl was sympathetic to his distraction as he lapsed into silence, and she concentrated on driving without attempting to extract more details.

Speculation on the motivation behind the recent shootout cascaded through Steve's mind, and multiple possibilities were considered and weighed. It was entirely feasible, given the location and surreptitious nature of the meeting, that it was a random occurrence, maybe opportunistic criminals believing that they were horning in on a drug deal. However, every cop instinct Steve possessed told him that that explanation was too coincidental. There had been something coldblooded in the attack that seemed premeditated, although it was possible that Eddie could have been the intended target. He certainly wasn't a popular character, but Steve knew that the same could be said for him in certain quarters. It could even have been a preemptive strike to remove him before attempting to kill his father. Steve couldn't shake the suspicion that he had been set up, despite the injuries suffered by Eddie. In the instant before the shooting started, he had seen something in Eddie's expression that, with hindsight, made him suspect that the snitch had been expecting the attack and was surprised only by the form it took.

The myriad potential explanations failed to resolve themselves into one obvious answer, and Steve rubbed his head trying to disperse the incipient headache. The only clear feeling he could grasp was that the danger to his father was real and imminent.